


53 - Is that a tattoo?

by sabishisa



Series: 100 Smutty Dialogue Prompts [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Aftercare, Emotionally Repressed, Forced Masturbation, Insults, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23027089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabishisa/pseuds/sabishisa
Summary: Hancock discovers Danse has a tattoo and a need to be dominated.
Relationships: Paladin Danse/John Hancock (Fallout)
Series: 100 Smutty Dialogue Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654933
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	53 - Is that a tattoo?

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a 100 Smutty Dialogue prompts meme that I plan to keep posting on. I doubt all of it will be Danse/Hancock but there's probably going to be a good amount. I always wanted a Danse redemption and even better if its smutty and with Hancock as the catalyst. Also, please note this fic doesn't get too deeply involved in the mindset of Danse. It was supposed to be PWP but you know how that goes... Hope you enjoy and comments/kudos are always very much appreciated!
> 
> Also, a big thank you to [TheNightMother](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightMother/) for inspiring me with her awesomeness!

53 - “Is that a tattoo?”

\---

Danse lifted the jugs of sand one after the other, sweat trickling down his flesh in a near steady drip. He panted from the exertion, his breath in time with each lift of the heavy jugs. It was a hot day and the inside of the garage was sticky with humidity. For Danse, it was perfect. Working hard, straining to the very end of his own personal strength; it let him shut everything else out. All he had to focus on was the burn in his muscles, the push through one more set of lifts. Nothing else mattered; not the Brotherhood, not the Commonwealth, not even being a synth. Just one more lift. Push through the pain. Keep it going.

His rhythm broke briefly when the shutter door began to lift, slowly revealing whomever had pushed the button to get inside. Danse expected Nate. He was more than a little disappointed when he saw the dangling bit of American flag. 

“Hancock,” he sneered, resuming his lifting.

The short ghoul ducked under the last of the shutter, smiling that damned smile that never seemed to leave his face. What did an abomination like that have to be so damned happy about anyway? Danse’s frown deepened.

“Dansey boy,” Hancock returned his greeting with what was almost a song. “Looking for Nate. You seen him?”

Danse was relieved. Hancock wouldn’t be sticking around. “He’s not here. And no, I have not.”

“Oh.” Hancock stood there, watching Danse in silence instead of leaving like Danse had assumed he would. 

Danse froze, holding the jugs down at his side, his muscles bulging slightly with the effort. “Wh-what?”

Hancock’s lip curled into a smirk. “You’re always so jumpy. I was just enjoying the gun show.”

Danse felt his cheeks flush and hated himself for it. He'd always had a certain weakness for compliments. “I didn’t ask for an audience.”

Hancock didn’t speak. He simply shifted his weight to one foot, and the hip with the flag knotted on it jutted out just enough to be eye-catching. Danse didn’t look. He had to tell himself that twice before he actually believed it. 

With a sigh, Danse put both jugs down. “Freak,” he muttered under his breath.

Hancock's wide black eyes narrowed and for a brief second, Danse thought he'd finally taken the insults one step too far. He was surprised when Hancock took a step forward and touched his arm. "Is that a tattoo," he asked, clearly surprised to see the Brotherhood's insignia inked into the flesh of Danse's bicep. 

Danse tried not to shiver. The ghoul's touch was soft, almost ticklish as he trailed over the design, tracing along the length of the sword that jutted through the middle. Danse told himself it wasn't because a ghoul was touching him. It had just been so, so very long since he'd had any kind of connection with someone else. Ever since.... Ever since he’d been forced to leave the Brotherhood, he’d isolated himself. He lingered at Nate’s garage, fixing up power armor and socializing as little as necessary. This ‘conversation’ with Hancock had officially gone on longer than any he’d had in months. And touch? Everyone treated him as though he were made of glass. People barely spoke, much less actually touched him. Not that he could blame them. Who wanted to touch a disgusting replica when they could have the real thing?

Hancock, however, didn't seem to care. "Would ya look at that," he muttered, almost seeming to talk to himself. When he looked up into Danse's eyes, the taller man flinched ever so slightly. "Never thought a goody two shoes like you would be sporting ink." 

Apparently Hancock wasn't going to handle him with kid gloves either. It was a relief. To be treated... Normally. Like anyone else. Like a human.

"Almost all Paladin and above rank get it."

"And you fell right in line."

Danse snatched his arm away with a sneer. "And what would you know about it, ghoul? You ever cared about anything besides yourself? Can you even feel or is that part of you dead like the rest?" 

Hancock didn't bat an eye. He held Danse's gaze steadily. "See, if I thought you actually meant that and weren't just lashing out, I might get mad."

Danse turned his face away. He couldn't keep looking into Hancock's depthless eyes. They were too searching, too knowing. 

"Anyway, I didn't say falling in line was a  _ bad _ thing. Just who you are. Obedient. Submissive."

Hancock's voice hit a low tone that Danse felt curl into his lower belly. He closed his eyes tight against it. 

"I bet you miss it, don't you? Being given orders. Praised when you carry them out correctly. Always the good soldier. Knowing right where your place is and loving being in it."

Danse really wished Hancock would just  _ shut up _ and leave. 

"I bet you'd be a lot less snappy if you just had someone over you again. What do you think, Tin Man?" 

Danse's breathing had not slowed. Even with the strain from his work out gone, he panted softly. It was so hot. He could swear it was getting hotter. The air too thick. "I..." Danse swallowed the lump in his throat. He still couldn't bring himself to look at Hancock. "I think you should leave."

"Look at me when you speak to me," Hancock snapped and before Danse even had time to register what he was doing, he obeyed. His eyes snapped to Hancock's and he even shifted to stand a little straighter. The smirk that spread across the ghoul's face was at the same time infuriating and strangely satisfying. 

Danse was suddenly aware of their closeness. He could feel Hancock's warmth and it would take little more than a shift forward for them to be touching. Even though Hancock was shorter, he tilted his head up, defiant and cocky. Danse told himself to step back but his body refused to obey. 

And then Hancock  _ really _ touched him. Two hands flat against his stomach, traveling slowly, ever so God damned slowly, upwards to his chest. He watched Hancock's gnarled fingers tighten just the smallest amount in his dusting of chest hair. This time the lump he tried swallow got stuck and Danse stopped breathing. His lips parted and he stared. 

The touch was undeniably erotic, something Danse should have been disgusted by. Yet... He couldn't bring himself to protest. He wasn't appalled, like he expected to be. He was intrigued. The first touch months after discovering he was a synth came from a ghoul... It was like some kind of poetic justice. 

"Wh... What are you doing," he finally managed to breathe out, eyes darting up to meet Hancock's in a show of obedience he didn't even regret. 

"What are you doing,  _ sir _ ," Hancock corrected. 

The spit in Danse's mouth was suddenly gone. There was no more pussy-footing around it. He either put a stop to this now or... 

Or... 

A dry tongue attempted in vain to dampen lips. "What are you doing, sir," he repeated. 

"Good boy."

Danse's heart instantly beat harder in his chest as a rush of adrenaline ran through him. He was doing this. He was really, really doing this. And with  _ Hancock _ . 

He couldn't stop to wonder how it was that Hancock knew his deepest secrets. That somehow a ghoul he'd only ever been dismissive and cruel to knew that his lack of a leader was killing him slowly. That the lack of human interaction was strangling him. That lack of praise at a job well done had left him empty. And just how to combine those needs into something Danse found it impossible to say no to. 

He  _ wanted _ to say no. It wasn't like a touch and a few words had changed everything about him. Hancock still disgusted him on a base level. He still hated how the ghoul stood for everything he disliked. Abandon, wanton sexuality, rampant chem abuse, crime... In Danse's eye Hancock would always be a man of low moral fiber. 

But none of it stopped the way Hancock's simple command had shot through all of those protests and zeroed in on his need to obey. It didn't lessen the flutter in his chest when he was praised. And it certainly wasn't stopping the way the feel of Hancock's hands tugging in his chest hair ever so softly seemed to radiate from his cock. 

Hancock's next words had Danse biting the inside of his cheek to keep silent. 

"Get on your knees."

Danse felt his cock jump and his cheeks redden. The warmth of the blush spread all the way from the tips of his ears to his neck. He moved to obey but the open door caught his eye and he hesitated. This was shameful enough. The idea of being  _ seen _ ?it made Danse feel like he was going to vomit. "The door... Sir," he croaked, just remembering to add the honorific. 

Hancock glanced behind himself, having completely forgotten the outside world even existed. "Alright. But only because you remembered the sir." He took a step back and hit the button that would lower the shutter. When it finished, he flipped the latch to lock it in place. "Now. On your knees."

Hancock's voice was a slow caress but no less demanding for it. There was the promise of violence right behind it, an unsaid threat that Danse could sense. He slid down to his knees, silently wishing it didn't make him feel so excited inside. 

Hancock reached out and threaded his hand through Danse's sweaty hair, pushing back the dark waves with ease. "Always wanted to get my hands in your hair," he admitted, seemingly unaware and uncaring how close this position put Danse's face to his crotch. "So thick and dark... It's beautiful."

The blush on Danse's cheeks deepened and he felt the tiniest of smiles pull at his lips. He'd had many of the female Brotherhood members compliment his hair and he hadn't realized just how much he missed having his appearance appreciated. 

Hancock's hand tightened suddenly and Danse felt his head pulled back roughly. He'd been caught off guard and this time, he couldn't stop the soft, eager grunt from passing his lips. Hancock smiled. 

"That's it. Let me hear you. Not that I don't know what this is doing to you. Those jeans don't hide a single thing." Hancock shifted his weight again and lifted his foot just enough to press the toe of his boot to Danse's cock. Danse had to fight his natural reaction not to jerk away. It was hard and his thighs twitched noticeably. 

"Don't worry. As long as you're a good boy, I won't hurt you. Well." Hancock smiled in a way that made Danse swallow. "Not any more than you want me to."

Danse swallowed again and nodded. He wanted to tell Hancock that he was giving him his trust but the words refused to form. Nonetheless, Hancock seemed to understand and returned his nod. 

"Today is a freebie," Hancock began, and let Danse's hair slip from his fingers. "But next time... You're gonna have to ask for it. Do you understand?"

Danse did not. Next time? There wasn't a next time. This was now and it was happening, he didn't have to ask. Still, Hancock wanted an answer and Danse didn't want to disappoint. He nodded dumbly and it seemed to be enough for the moment. He just wanted Hancock to get on with it. He didn't realize until after that Hancock meant for this to happen again. 

Hancock pressed the toe of his boot a little more firmly against Danse's cock, smiling to himself as he watched the thickly muscled man struggle to control his reactions. "I'm gonna make it nice and easy for you today. You've been a good little soldier boy so I think you deserve it." Hancock dropped his foot back to the ground. "Open your jeans. Get that cock out and let's see."

Danse's hands flexed but he didn't move. Now that it was happening, he was freezing up. There was no way,  _ no way _ , he could do this; submit himself to a ghoul. A ghoul! And one of the worst he could think of, at that! There was no way he'd be on his knees for this... This... Disgusting, half-dead, zombie looking  _ freak _ ! 

"Now, boy," Hancock shouted, raising his voice for the first time. He smacked Danse’s cheek with the back of his hand just enough to make it sting.

Danse scrambled to obey. Shame and disgust roared through him, side by side with his desire. It was too confusing and it was easier to just let go and allow his body to react automatically. He was a soldier, after all. He was trained to react and perform no matter what his feelings. To be able to fall into that mindset once more was worth all the shame in the world. 

Danse unzipped himself and hastily pulled his half-hard cock free. His jeans were almost uncomfortably tight between his cock and balls but he didn’t complain. It was almost nice.

Hancock scrutinized him silently for a few seconds before nodding. “Not bad, not bad. You’re bigger than I expected. Most meatheads aren’t packing more than a few fingers worth but you... you’re nice and thick. Long enough to be worth it.” Hancock slipped up and let himself lick his lips. “Yeah, not bad at all.”

Danse squirmed as Hancock appraised him. He’d never been evaluated quite so intimately and he was pleased that Hancock liked what he saw.

“You like that praise, huh? Look at you. If you had a tail, it’d be wagging for me. I bet over time I could make you into a wonderful little bitch...” Hancock hummed in self-satisfaction, watching as Danse’s cock hardened just from his words. “I’m not even going to ask if you want it. That dick of yours can’t stop twitching for me.” Hancock reached out and ran a deceptively comforting hand over Danse’s hair. “Calm her down for me, Danse. Wrap your fingers around the base and just hold her nice and firm.”

Danse did as he was told, letting his eyes slide closed. Looking at Hancock made it hard to focus but with his eyes closed he could focus on his voice and his own feelings without issue.

“There you go. Oh, she wants this bad. Give ‘er a little stroke for me. Nice and slow...”

Danse moaned softly as he stroked up his length and back down at an agonizingly slow pace. His cock throbbed and twitched in his hand, demanding more. He was already so hard it almost hurt.

“You like that?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Do it again. Keep it going.”

Danse moaned again and his thighs tensed as he began to stroke. He wanted more, he wanted faster, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He hadn’t been given permission. And Hancock was watching. Danse couldn’t see him but he could feel the other man’s gaze, hot and intense. No matter how hard he was, no matter how much precome beaded and dribbled down over his fingers... He would wait. He would be a good boy.

Hancock petted Danse’s hair softly, matching his pace in an agonizing pantomime that almost made Danse want to be bad. “You think you want it bad,” Hancock said, voice dropped low with lust, “but I’m just getting you revved up. Remove your hand.”

Danse hesitated and Hancock snatched sharply at his hair. “Remove your hand!”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” As loathe as he was to do it, Danse obeyed and the grip in his hair relaxed again.

“When’s the last time you had a nice blowjob, Danser?”

Internally, Danse winced a little at the nickname but made sure not to let it show. “I don’t know, sir. Truly. It... It has been quite some time.”

“Well, keep those eyes closed for me. I want you to take your finger... just your finger and trace up the underside to the tip. Imagine it’s a tongue. Feel the breath against you. The warmth.”

Danse shivered softly as he began to follow Hancock’s little fantasy. The tongue didn’t belong to anyone in particular. Danse didn’t want to complicate the fantasy by adding more detail. He just listened to Hancock’s voice paint him a scene and followed along.

“There you go. Make a fist and push into it. Remember how it feels to press past lips, into a hot, wet mouth. Deeper. All the way to the bottom.”

Both men moaned together and when Danse peeked an eye open he was surprised to see Hancock palming himself through his pants.

“Ah-ah-ah. Keep those eyes closed. Now, start thrusting. Go ahead, faster... Yeah. Let it build up, just like that.” Hancock’s voice was breathy. “No gag reflex, baby. Fuck that mouth as much as you- Heh, don’t have to tell you twice, huh? Yeah, just like that.”

The fantasy was all too real for Danse as he stroked himself rapidly. He’d never been with someone that didn’t have a gag reflex but the idea of it made his cock throb hard. His hips pressed forward, meeting his fist with a solid smack as he fucked into the imagined mouth. It had been too long and as much as he wanted this to continue, Danse could already feel his composure slipping. At this pace, with Hancock talking like that, he wouldn't be able to continue for much longer.

“Han- Sir. Please, I can’t...” Danse begged in a soft voice.

“Already? Well, I suppose just this once...” Hancock’s hand was back in Danse’s hair and he guided Danse to lean his head back gently. “On one condition. You open those eyes and look at me as you cum.” The softness was gone from Hancock’s voice and that razor edge had returned.

Danse whined, a pitiful sound he would be completely ashamed of later.

“I want you to know who’s making you feel like this,” Hancock said and his lip curled up in a small sneer. “You want it? You look at me. You say my name.”

Danse was panting heavily. He hadn’t stopped or even slowed as they bargained over his orgasm. One thing was certain. He didn’t have long to make up his mind. He could end it all right here. Take his hand away and tell Hancock to forget any of this ever happened. Even as he thought it, he knew it was useless. There was no way he’d ever forget this. The ghoul’s voice had gotten into his head. He knew he’d be hearing that soft urging tone as he tried to sleep tonight.

“Yes, sir.”

Hancock smiled. “Then go ahead. Cum for me, boy. Right down that throat. I wanna see it thick and wet.”

That filthy mouth unraveled Danse easily. With a tight groan and a few more strokes, he was right on the edge. Just one more thing.... “Hah.... Hancock!” 

Danse exploded. Little glimmers of white flashed behind tightly closed eyelids as he came hard. He was moaning and gasping like a teenage boy during his first time as he spurted again and again. He barely heard Hancock’s soft, “Wow.” Danse didn’t stop. He kept stroking himself and it only took Hancock a few seconds to pick up on it.

“Ooh, that’s it, baby boy. Milk that cock for me. C’mon, squeeze the head. I want every single drop.”

Danse could barely stay on his knees as he gave his cock one last tight squeeze and his body shuddered.

“Beautiful. Now that was a stunning performance, soldier.” 

Danse barely heard him. Hancock’s voice seemed far away and Danse could feel himself sway dangerously to one side, though he could do nothing to stop it. His body simply wasn’t responding anymore.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy now.” Hancock dropped quickly to his knees and guided Danse down into a sitting position. “There you go. Lean into me, Danse.” 

Danse’s eyes fluttered closed as he felt the comforting warmth against his side. He turned and nuzzled into it, humming contentedly. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but when he began to feel normal again, he noticed the leg he had bent under himself had gone numb. With a grunt, he shifted into a more comfortable position.

“You back with me?”

Slowly, Danse realized he was sitting on the floor, practically wrapped in Hancock’s arms like two long-lost lovers. He pulled away and sat up. Shame and disgust hit him like a one-two punch and Danse felt instantly sick again. Grumbling without actually saying anything at all, he stood hastily, ignoring the way it made his head swim and shoved himself roughly back in his jeans.

Hancock laughed and stood as well. “Yep, you’re back. That’s my cue to leave.”

“I never wanted you here in the first place,” Danse snapped. He knew he didn’t mean it and he certainly had no right to say it. Not with evidence of his desire still coating his fingers. He wiped his hand hastily on his jeans to try and clean it.

Hancock simply waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever you say, Dansey boy. You know where to find me when you’re ready for round two.” Hancock unlatched the shutter and pressed the button to open it.

“There won’t be a round two, freak. And you’d better not breathe a word of this to anyone, you hear me?”

Hancock laughed again and ducked under the shutter, leaving without even bothering to look at the mess he was leaving behind.


End file.
